Wednesday, August 17, 2016
[Disclaimer: The events in this post occurred in August 2016, and have been retold fully and completely, absent any intention of false or misleading information. Any similarity to any person living or dead is fully intentional.]
What a great spot! A pull-though with a hard dirt/gravel pad toward the end of the road. It is perfectly level laterally, with only a slight downward slope at the head of the trailer. And for whatever reason the neighboring trailers are staying several spots away, leaving us with a three to four space clearing for the kids to play. Even more strange, no ant hills! There are always ant hills, so this is pretty great. The only minor worry is a fairly serious puddle at the end of the road, but we don’t have to “cross that bridge” until moving day with house in tow.
Curiously it seems all the annual site owners are elsewhere in the campground, leaving us smack dab in the middle of some “transient row”. Immediately after a 30 minute Florida-style downpour, my curiosity was no more.
We returned from our awesome visit to Savannah, visiting old friends from way back in Nebraska, topping off the trip with a stop at the Carolina Cider Company to find something far less exciting. Our campsite was flooded. Not washed away, destroyed or otherwise alarming, but ankle deep water stretched across the land, including our front door stoop. With no dry way to exit the vehicle after pulling into our usually grassy spot, we quipped, “No problem! Just swing around the road on the backside and enter by the back door. It looks considerably drier.” I nudge the throttle to pull out of the lake we’re sitting in and back onto the dirt road. A sinking feeling outside is met with a similar sink in my gut. The truck’s rear end has sunken deep into the mud, and all the throttle gives is spinning wheels...deeper we sink.
“No problem!” I put her in neutral, Brynn reaches over and engages the 4x4, and surely we’ll be on our way in no time. [Throttle, tires spinning, wheels sinking.] “No problem. I’ll put her in reverse. We’ll go out the way we came in, or at least rock her free.” [Throttle, spinning, sinking, *sigh*] “No problem… there is some gravel nearby, and our leveling blocks can help us garner some traction."
I step out of the truck and sink shin deep into the water. With each step the mud claws at my shoes, threatening to swallow them clean off my feet. With a Playschool brand bright blue frilly trimmed umbrella in hand (ironically from the children’s water table) I gather some gear to shove under the tires. Brynn hops in the pilot seat, ready to coax this Beast of Burden out of its pit. [Throttle, spinning wheels, tires grinding on plastic blocks now buried deep beneath the mud]. “No problem…?” Fortunate to have some asphalt chunks and broken brick sitting in a pile at our campsite (I swear it’s a nicer place than that image might suggest), my hope is renewed. With one final heave-ho, the Beast surges free, like a yacht leaving harbor, leaving two craters in its wake. I spend a few minutes digging up our orange blocks from the mud, but all is well now. Like we said all along, “No problem.”
Postlude: “I guess all this flooding keeps the ants away. That’s a plus,” I remark as we enter the trailer. Seconds later: “Uh oh, I’m finding ants crawling on my legs and arms (and even while writing this, on my shoulder) as they search for high and dry ground!"
Posted by Dad W